


(I'd Sure Hate To) Break Down Here

by GoldenWaffles



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenWaffles/pseuds/GoldenWaffles
Summary: Waverly Earp loves her hometown, except for the occasional day when she really, really hates it. One restless night, when Wynonna is still abroad, and Champ is still useless, and nothing feels quite right, Waverly takes a turn at running away herself. She steals (borrows) her uncle's truck and tries to drive over the county line. Only the truck doesn't exactly cooperate. Good thing there's a new cop in town to come to her rescue!Alternate title: "Borrowed With Permission"
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 23
Kudos: 161





	(I'd Sure Hate To) Break Down Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Like many of you, I've been cooped up inside for like two weeks now, and for lack of anything else to do, I've been writing like a woman possessed. This was an idea that came to me a few months ago. I kind of outlined it and wrote snippets at the time, but I came back recently to finish it off. It's just a small thing, I'm almost surprised I bothered with it, but I kind of like it just as a little alternate meeting moment. Not that I don't love their actual meeting, obviously, but I do still like to imagine other possibilities. I feel like I usually have more story tags than this, but I can't think of any. I was also tempted to title it "Borrowed with Permission," but it always feels a little right to name WE stories after country songs, and there is a country song called "Break Down Here," which kind of has the right feel to it, so that won out. If you're the kind of person who likes soundtracks, feel free to listen to it while reading.

Waverly was a good girl. Everybody said so. Hell, she was _the_ good girl. The town sweetheart. The friendly neighborhood bartender. The head cheerleader. The class valedictorian. The town-elected “Nicest Person” in Purgatory.

She certainly wasn’t the kind of girl who snuck out in the dead of night. And she _certainly_ wasn’t the kind of girl who would steal her uncle’s truck while she snuck out in the dead of night.

No, that was more of a _Wynonna_ thing to do. Wynonna, who was probably still in Greece, as far as any of them knew. Wynonna, who hadn’t returned any of her texts in _two months_. Wynonna, who the whole town hated, and who Waverly missed so much it was like a hole in her chest.

No, nobody would expect such a thing from Waverly, the one sweet, cottony lamb in a family of black sheep. Or maybe the one sheep in a family of wolves, if you asked the residents of Purgatory for their opinion. But what did they know? Just because they had never seen her teeth didn’t mean she didn’t have them.

Nobody loved Purgatory like Waverly loved Purgatory. It was home. It was _everything_. She had never even left the Ghost River Triangle, if not in her entire life, then at least within her entire memory. It was her entire world.

But sometimes… just _sometimes_ … all Waverly wanted to do was the _unexpected_. Something that surprised people. Something that scared her, and made her heart race. Her wildest fantasies had her driving all the way to the coast, or catching a flight to wherever Wynonna was, or applying to faraway colleges, or visiting distant archives and museums, or skydiving, or telling Champ that she wanted to break up _for real_ this time.

Something, _anything_ , to break up the monotony.

And after tossing and turning for four desperate hours, and sending three new unanswered texts to Wynonna, and composing two unsent breakup texts to Champ, she found herself getting dressed in feverish determination. She had been staying with Gus and Curtis tonight after a family dinner, still in her childhood bedroom with its little-girl decorations, and her Jeep was in the shop, and all she wanted was to just _do something_.

 _Anything_.

So she tiptoed from her room to the kitchen, plucked a set of keys hanging by the door, and slipped outside.

Maybe sneaking out in the dead of the night wasn’t a very _Waverly_ thing to do, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t good at it.

Outside, it was a cool, still night, full of stars, and Waverly breathed fast as she raced to Uncle Curtis’s truck and climbed up into the cab. She wasn’t sure where she was going to go, but it didn’t matter. She just needed to be moving.

She wondered if this was how Wynonna felt all the time— this need to just _go_.

She wondered if it was how their mother had felt, before she left them all behind.

Maybe running away ran in the family.

The engine growled and revved and the steering wheel vibrated as she pulled away from the house, hopefully not loud enough to wake her aunt and uncle. She rolled all the windows down and let the night air and the sound of crickets blow around her.

It helped. Moving helped. Driving helped. It was a balm to that sense of aimless urgency that made her want to scream. She took turns on a whim, cutting a random, meandering course through the town she knew like the back of her hand.

She passed landmarks that were the backdrop to all her life’s memories— the school, the library, Shorty’s, businesses that had come and gone, houses whose residents had known her since birth. Only one place had more memories, good and bad. Mostly bad, these days.

Eventually, she began winding her way out of the central parts of town, out to where the roads opened up and the speed limits went up with them. She waited until she was safely away from the main residential area before turning the radio on, letting thundering music drown out the rather ominous rattle of the truck’s engine.

It wasn’t long before she realized where exactly she was subconsciously heading, where her aimless driving was secretly aiming— the Homestead. Or, as the rest of the town called it— the Murder House.

That particular moniker never failed to bite. To everyone else, it was a creepy piece of town lore, but to her… it was the day her family died. Not just literally— Daddy and Willa— but figuratively, too. Wynonna never forgave herself for what happened there. And if she was unforgiving to herself, it was nothing compared to how unforgiving the town— Waverly’s beloved Purgatory— had been to her. All her talk about demons and Revenants and curses had earned her a permanent scarlet letter in the town— even Waverly’s friends referred to Wynonna as her “crazy sister,” if not worse. And Wynonna’s actions afterwards— normal teenage shenanigans, petty crimes and acting out— hadn’t been forgiven either.

Assumptions. People _thinking_ they saw you, _thinking_ they knew you, when you knew for a fact that they didn’t. _Never_ being seen, _never_ being known— maybe _that_ was what made Earp blood boil.

Maybe _that_ was what made them run.

Waverly hadn’t driven out to the homestead in years, but she didn’t even need to think about the route. She drove on instincts alone, through a darkened landscape of fields and wooden fences, until she finally parked the truck at the gate up to the property. She turned off the radio, but left the engine running as she got out— she didn’t plan to take long, and there was a metallic grinding sound and the faint scent of smoke emanating from under the truck’s hood that made her leery of turning it off.

She dropped down from the driver’s seat to the ground and walked just up to the gate, standing beneath the wooden archway. A sign with the name “EARP” sat over her head like a label. Like a beacon. Like a curse.

The land was hauntingly beautiful at night, lit only by the moon and stars. The crumbling barn was still there, to the left, and the creaking windmill to the right. And right down the center was the house she’d grown up in.

The homestead. The _murder house_. Home.

Home to the faint, distant half-memories of her mother. Home to the bitter, aching memories of her father. Home to the mixed, hot-and-cold memories of Willa. But most of all, home to her earliest memories of Wynonna. Memories from the sweet, irrepressible, self-confident Wynonna that existed right up until the day she picked up their daddy’s gun and everything changed.

Waverly pulled out her phone. Wynonna still hadn’t texted her back.

She didn’t go any farther, didn’t enter the house, didn’t even quite step foot on the land. The feeling in her chest was back, and she was _mad_ at her sister and _mad_ at her town and _mad_ at herself. Mad that she couldn’t make them see her. Mad that she couldn’t make them _understand_. She swung back up into the truck and pushed the pedal to the floor.

It was instinct guiding her again, but deep down, she knew where she was going.

The town line.

Not the one that led towards the big city, but the one way out in the middle of nowhere, that marked the far edge of the Ghost River Triangle.

The invisible line that she had never crossed.

Well, she was damn sure going to cross it tonight.

It might be a small rebellion, but it was a rebellion nonetheless. It was a change. It was a symbol.

Waverly Earp was destined for more, and if that started with a single trip over the county line, then so be it.

Only…

…The truck didn’t seem to agree.

She was well out into the fields and farmland that surrounded it the town, still maybe a half-mile from the official town line, when a metallic _KA-BANG_ made itself heard even over the blaring radio. The truck juddered beneath her, the engine making a weak coughing sound like an old smoker.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot, not _now_ ,” she groaned, as the engine went dead and the truck drifted a few meters further before rolling lazily to a stop. Waverly lay her forehead against the steering wheel, wishing… all kinds of things, really.

She wished the truck hadn’t died. She wished she had never taken it in the first place. She wished Wynonna had just freaking _texted her back_. She wished Curtis had kept his stupid truck fixed and not always taken his motorcycle everywhere.

She wished she had at least made it over the town line, just once.

She wished she had lived a life where something that small and stupid and simple didn’t matter.

She turned the key, killing the truck before it drained its battery, and clambered out of the driver’s seat onto the road. This far out, even the chirping of the crickets was muted. It was just empty fields and distant mountains and all the stars in the world.

The truck had broken down, and fittingly, Waverly followed suit. She sat on the ground, half a mile from the town line, buried her head in her knees, and cried.

Not just for the car, but for everything. For Wynonna’s physical _and_ emotional distance, for Champ’s not-secret-enough cheating, for Gus and Curtis’s inevitable disappointment in her when they found out what she had done, for her comfortable but dead-end job at Shorty’s, for all the useless college degrees and historical research that no one but her would ever care about, for the Revenant-tracking pin-board in her apartment that no one but her would ever see. Just… for everything.

It wasn’t necessarily what she had planned for the night, but it kind of helped. A little.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying. Forever, it felt like. Walking back to town would take hours, and she hadn’t picked the best shoes for it. She would have to call someone to come get her. Champ, probably, in the end.

Good thing she hadn’t sent those breakup texts…

Or maybe not.

A distinctive flash of red and blue had her raising her head from its resting place, and through bloodshot, swollen eyes, she saw a police cruiser approaching, lights on but no siren, pulling up behind the truck and parking itself there.

Great. Perfect. Now Nedley was here, with his scolding-grandpa demeanor that was exactly what she _didn’t_ need, and he would tell Gus and Curtis and probably even Shorty, and then—

The door popped open and a tall, lean, _extremely_ un-Nedley-like form emerged from the car. Waverly rubbed at her watering eyes, as though that would make a difference in what she saw.

It didn’t. The person now walking towards her in full police uniform, topped by a comically oversized Stetson, was young, female, and somehow, impossibly, completely unfamiliar to Waverly.

“Hi there,” the cop said, and her voice was higher and friendlier than Waverly had expected. “Having some car trouble?”

She stepped closer, and in the kaleidoscope flash of lights, Waverly could see her face. She was young, probably only a few years older than Waverly herself, and she looked oddly pleased to be there. She carried herself tall, and there was an excited brightness in her eyes.

“The truck broke down,” Waverly said, her voice hoarser and shakier than she had hoped.

“I could kinda tell,” the cop said, looking between Waverly and the car. “Are you okay?” she asked. Waverly nodded, as if there weren’t still tear-tracks on her cheeks. The officer clearly didn’t believe her, but didn’t linger on the issue, instead pointing her thumb at the truck. “Want me to take a look at it?”

“Do you know how to fix cars?” Waverly asked, wiping her face self-consciously and trying not to sound as skeptical as she felt.

“Not remotely,” the cop said cheerfully, seeming entirely unfazed. “Unless it’s like a blown tire or a dead battery or something. It just seemed like I should ask.”

Waverly tried not to look disappointed. Or annoyed.

“Who even are you? I’ve never seen you before,” she said, still trying to place the stranger’s face. The patch on her arm was clearly the Purgatory P.D. shield, but Waverly prided herself on knowing just about every soul in Purgatory, by sight if not by name, and she had never seen this woman before in her life.

And she was sure she would remember it if she had. She had a very distinctive… _way_ about her.

“Oh, right!” The cop closed the distance between them and crouched down, offering her hand. “Nicole Haught. I’m the new sheriff’s deputy here. You’re actually my very first call.”

Well, that explained her excitement. Waverly shook her hand. Her grasp was firm and confident, without being rough. She wondered if the officer had practiced it. It was actually kind of steadying.

“Oh. I didn’t realize Simons had died,” Waverly said after a moment, vaguely remembering the apparently short-lived previous deputy.

“Died? I heard ‘retired,’” Officer Haught said, her brows knitting in worry underneath the Stetson. Waverly waved her hand quickly, correcting herself.

“Oh. Sorry. Maybe he did. I just assumed…” She didn’t really want to start the officer’s first shift with the news that it was far more common for deputies to leave Purgatory P.D. via coffin than by collecting their pensions. “Um, forget I said anything. So… you got stuck here? In Purgatory?”

Most days, she loved this town, but it had never felt more like a cage than it did tonight, and she didn’t like the thought of someone full of life and energy settling down here, not realizing how easily this town could close its teeth around you.

The officer raised an eyebrow at her phrasing.

“I wouldn’t say ‘stuck.’ I had other offers, but I wanted to come here.”

“Why?” Waverly asked. Much as she loved Purgatory (most days), she knew that to the rest of the world, it wasn’t known for much. Wyatt Earp’s resting place, but only _after_ he’d done all the exciting stuff. A view of the Rockies, but the same view that every other little western town had.

“I don’t know. It just felt right, I guess. Such a glamorous job, sheriff’s deputy in a little mountain town with a funny name.” She said the last part a little sardonically, but otherwise sounded sincere.

“That’s not exactly how I’d describe it,” Waverly hedged, uncertain quite how to respond. She felt guilty for how negative she felt, which in itself felt stupid and circular. She tried to rally some enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “But Purgatory has its charms.”

“I’m starting to see that,” Officer Haught said, her eyes twinkling as though from an inside joke. She shifted from her crouch, but instead of standing again, joined Waverly in sitting against the truck. It seemed like an odd thing for a cop to do, but Waverly felt grateful for it. It was better than sitting alone. And the officer was still smiling brightly, like she was having the time of her life. “And besides all that, Nedley was _very_ persistent in recruiting me. Emails every day, for weeks.”

Waverly chuckled, imagining Nedley pecking out inarticulate recruitment emails on some ancient computer.

“I can’t believe Nedley knows how to use email,” she said. Officer Haught grinned back.

“Oh, he doesn’t. They were unreadable. But I got the gist of it, and he also sent actual letters, and stuff through the academy.”

“Why’d he want you so bad?” Waverly asked, before realized how that sounded. “No offense. I’m sure you’re great. It just… I don’t know. If I had to picture who I thought Nedley’s ideal candidate would be, you’re not exactly what I would picture.”

“I guess because I graduated at the top of my class? Aside from that, I have no idea. Maybe he talked with my instructors or something, or the city department where I was being trained.” Haught shrugged. “Or maybe I was just the only one who showed any interest.” She shrugged again. “And I guess I used to have family in the area.”

Waverly instantly perked up at that last part, combing her memory for the surname _Haught_ , or for anyone who shared Nicole’s fine features.

“Really? Where?” she asked, mental maps of historical property lines unraveling in her head. Nicole, for the first time seeming vaguely uncomfortable, shrugged one shoulder, looking away from Waverly and out at the darkness that surrounded them.

“Somewhere out in the boonies around here. I don’t remember where exactly. Near the woods, I guess. I only visited a few times.” Her voice was just a little more guarded now, and her smile had faded.

“I don’t remember the name Haught from any records,” Waverly said, still scrolling down lists of surnames in her head.

“It wouldn’t be under Haught, it would be under Rayleigh.” Nicole said. “Other side of the family.”

That clicked, and Waverly immediately pictured a small plot of land on the fringes of town.

“Oh, I know where that is! I could show you if I had my maps, but they’re all in my apartment. But no one’s lived out there for…” She tried to remember when the maps where from, and when the name _Rayleigh_ had disappeared from the maps, scrubbed out and replaced by _Gardner_ as the old family bought up the abandoned land. It wasn’t _that_ long ago in the grand scheme of things, but it wasn’t recent.

“Twenty years, I know,” Nicole said, unknowingly confirming Waverly’s best guess. She fussed with her Stetson a little and finally gave a wry, almost apologetic smile. “My aunt and uncle.”

“Moved away?” Waverly asked hopefully. Nicole grimaced, and Waverly regretted bringing it up.

“Died,” the officer clarified, looking still more uncomfortable. “Um, in a fire. I guess. At least that’s what they say.”

The last part sounded oddly reluctant, bordering on skeptical. Waverly wanted to probe farther, but given that she had just made a complete stranger relive a family death, she decided maybe now wasn’t the time.

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“It’s okay. I mean… I was young at the time. I liked them, and I think I stayed with them a few times, but we weren’t technically that close, I guess…” Nicole’s tone had turned pained and awkward, and Waverly instinctively lay a hand on her arm, hoping to offer some comfort. The officer’s face softened a little, and she offered a sad smile in return.

“My aunt and uncle basically raised me,” Waverly said, hoping to steer things onto less tragic ground. “This is my Uncle Curtis’s truck.” As she leaned back against it, it sank in again that she was going to have to tell him what happened. “God, I can’t believe I stole it.”

Nicole huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“Now, I’m going to _pretend_ I heard the words ‘borrowed with permission’ there,” she said, half a laugh still in her voice, and Waverly realized that she had just told a _police officer_ that she had committed grand theft auto. She blushed.

“Oh. Right. Cop.”

Nicole’s head lifted at the sound of the word, a proud, joyful twinkle in her eye, and Waverly remembered that it was still her first day on the job. She was unexpectedly charmed by the sight, and even more unexpectedly jealous. It must be nice to know what you wanted to do with your life, and then to just accomplish it. Just like that.

“Officer Nicole Haught,” Waverly said, just to see her glow intensify. It worked.

“Since it’s just the two of us out here, you can just call me Nicole if you want,” she offered.

“Did you always know you wanted to be a cop?” Waverly asked, honestly curious.

Any trace of the sadness from before had fully fled from Nicole’s features, and she shrugged at the question.

“Yes and no. I mean, I had a list of things I wanted out of my life. Helping people, being part of a community, being someone people can depend on. Plus, I look _very dashing_ in a uniform.” She met Waverly’s eyes as she said that last part, and Waverly chuckled. It was a joke, but she wasn’t _wrong_ either. The uniform looked good on her. Or rather, she _made_ the uniform look good. “But it took me awhile to put a name to it.”

“I still don’t have a name for what I want to do,” Waverly admitted. “I’ve studied so much of the local history and lore and everything, and all kinds of languages, and my family’s genealogy, but… I don’t know what to do with it all.” The only thing she was really _prepared_ to be was the Earp heir, and that wasn’t exactly a paying gig, nor was it one that she seemed destined for. Compared to all that, it was oddly nice to hear from someone who had their career all figured out already. “So why a cop? And not, like, a doctor or a firefighter or something?” Waverly asked, prompting her to keep going.

“I guess I just like the idea that if anyone is in trouble, they always have someone they can call for help. Any call we get, we have to respond to, even if it sounds silly. I think there’s something beautiful about that.” Nicole shrugged a little sheepishly. “I know it doesn’t always work out that way, but I think the idea is actually really nice.”

“It does sound nice,” Waverly admitted. “My father used to be the sheriff, back before Nedley. But he died when I was still really little. Since then, my sister has probably spent as many nights behind bars as in front of them.”

Nicole tilted her head, looking uncertain.

“Really? Should I worry about her?” she asked. Waverly shook her head.

“No, she left town a long time ago. But every few years she comes back to visit. I’m sure everyone in town will take turns warning you if _that_ ever happens again.” Waverly meant to sound casual, but it came out harsh and bitter.

To her surprise, Nicole’s face softened.

“Well, if she does, I promise to give her a fair shake. For whatever it’s worth.” She sounded gravely serious.

Waverly had never heard anyone in town, let alone anyone in the police department, say such a thing before in her life. She felt a little stunned by it, and a momentary flush of tears blurred her vision before she blinked them away.

“Thank you.” Waverly wished she could believe that someday Wynonna would come back and this new deputy would treat her fairly and everything would be fine, but she couldn’t. “It’s probably too late already. Wynonna doesn’t trust cops. _Any_ cops.”

Nicole smiled wryly again.

“Oh, I’m used to that. Lots of people don’t.”

“Like criminals?” Waverly half-joked.

“Yeah, I guess, but also just… Some people become cops so that they can be bullies. Not so much for the ‘helping people’ part.” She sank a little against the truck, her shoulders slouching. Waverly wondered if she was thinking of bad cops she knew, or people she knew who had turned against her. “I don’t think my parents really understood why I wanted to be one.” One hand reached up to tug at her collar, which was buttoned all the way to the top, as though it were bothering her. She gave up after a minute and looked back up at Waverly. “Do your… aunt and uncle understand your thing? With the languages and the history and all that?”

It was the kind of question that no one had ever asked Waverly before, and she had to think about the answer, picking at a loose thread in her blouse. She was a little surprised the cop had even been listening to what she’d said before.

“Not really. My aunt definitely doesn’t. But my uncle, Curtis, sorta does. Or, he might not understand it, but he supports me.”

“That counts for a lot,” Nicole said.

“Yeah, it does,” Waverly sighed, then tilted her head back, thudding it against the truck. “God, I can’t believe I stole his truck,” she groaned, then glanced quickly at her companion and corrected herself. “I mean, borrowed. With permission.”

“Borrowed with permission,” Nicole echoed, amusement showing clearly on her face. She took the Stetson off and held it in her lap, and between the patrol car’s headlights and red-and-blues, Waverly noted for the first time that Nicole’s hair was red, and braided tightly out of the way. Nicole ran her hand over it now, as though checking for flyaways, before settling back more comfortably, stretching her long legs out in front of her. “So where were you headed? I didn’t think there was much out that direction.”

Waverly blinked at the question, and realized she was staring. She looked away quickly, shifting her gaze instead to the road out of town and the shadow of the sign that marked the town line, half a mile away and as far as it had ever been.

“Oh… yeah, it was just a stupid idea,” Waverly said, shaking her head at herself. Sitting on the asphalt next to her stolen, broken-down truck, she felt ashamed. “I was just going to cross the town line.”

Nicole looked surprised.

“That’s all?” she asked.

“Yeah. Like I said, it was stupid.” Waverly shook her head at herself, wishing once again that she had just stayed in bed.

“Well, I don’t really know you well enough to know _why_ you wanted to cross it… but from this conversation, I can safely say that nothing about you strikes me as stupid,” Nicole said, and against all odds, Waverly believed that she meant it.

Well, maybe there were _some_ upsides to having not just stayed in bed.

“Maybe,” she sighed, feeling just a little less miserable.

Nicole didn’t say anything after that, and they both sat in the darkness, the patrol car throwing red and blue light over the surrounding fields in chaotic patterns.

It was cold, but for once, Waverly didn’t mind. The restlessness inside her had calmed, like a storm breaking itself apart and dispersing. The wind softly rustled the grass, and the stars seemed to go on forever, except where they were blocked by the distant shadow of mountains.

“It’s really peaceful out here,” Nicole said, softly breaking the otherwise quiet of the night.

“It can be. Sometimes,” Waverly admitted.

They sat there for another minute.

“You ready to go back?” Nicole said finally. “Or… do you want to go for a walk?”

Waverly turned her head and looked at her in confusion.

“A walk?” she echoed. Nicole nodded.

“You were looking to cross that boundary line, right? I’ll walk you down there if you want. I don’t know what you’re hoping to find on the other side…” Her voice was skeptical, but it sounded more curious than rude. Waverly sighed.

“Probably nothing,” she admitted after a long moment. “No, we can head back.” She shifted her feet, making ready to stand. “Are you giving me a ride?”

Nicole grinned.

“That’s what this has all been leading up to, yes,” she said, rising to her feet before Waverly and offering her a hand up. She took it. Her grip was strong, but careful, just like before.

“Do I have to sit in the back?” she asked, memories of Wynonna flashing in her head. She had always hoped to avoid the back seat of a cop car.

“Well, since you were only _borrowing_ the truck _with permission_ , no. I wasn’t planning on arresting you. You can ride shotgun.”

They piled into the car and Nicole— or maybe it was _Officer Haught_ again now— turned the flashing lights off and then got back out, tying a strip of tape or ribbon onto the truck to mark it.

“You can get it towed in the morning. It should be fine until then. Nedley said there’s not much traffic out this way, usually.” She set her hat on the console and turned the car around, heading back into town.

“Yeah. It’s really lucky you were driving by out here,” Waverly said, thanking the Fates for her good fortune.

“Actually, your uncle called the police station,” Nicole said.

“WHAT?!” Waverly yelped, nearly jumping out of her skin. Nicole took one hand off the wheel to pat her arm reassuringly.

“Relax, he’s not mad. He was just worried because he knew the truck needed fixing and he didn’t want anything to happen to you if it broke down while you were driving it. Which, it turns out, was a valid concern.” She said it in the same calm, cheerful voice she had used all night. “So do you want me to drop you off at your aunt and uncle’s house? Or somewhere else?”

“You really aren’t arresting me?” Waverly asked, almost afraid to look up at the law enforcement officer who now knew for absolute certain that she had _stolen_ her uncle’s truck, and _not_ , in fact, _borrowed_ it _with permission_. But Nicole just chuckled at her.

“Your uncle would have to want to press charges, and he obviously doesn’t,” she said, and Waverly released a heavy breath. “I mean, if you _want_ to spend the night in the drunk tank, I guess can arrange for that. God knows I could use the company. But I figured you’d rather have an actual bed.” Her eyes were twinkling with mirth, and maybe just a glint of something else. Something warmer.

“Yeah…” She gave the address, and Nicole adjusted her route accordingly. Part of her would rather just go back to her small apartment above the bar and put off the inevitable for as long as possible, but she owed her aunt and uncle an explanation and an apology.

Nicole pulled up to the house, but Waverly didn’t get out right away. She could see that a light was on in the kitchen. Gus and Curtis would be waiting for her. Gus would probably be furious, and Curtis might either be disappointed or tickled, depending on his mood.

“Well, thanks for making my first shift a memorable one,” Nicole said.

“Anytime,” Waverly said. “Well, not really. I actually never do stuff like this. I was just… having a bad night, I guess.”

“Happens to all of us.” Nicole hesitated, then fished something out of her pocket. “Um… the sheriff had these made before I came. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with them, but… here.” She held out a business card, and Waverly took it, reading the text.

“Nicole Haught, Police Officer,” she read aloud. She offered Nicole a smile. “Congratulations.”

Nicole beamed, and Waverly could see a pair of dimples appear on her cheeks.

“Thanks. It was nice to meet you tonight, Waverly. I hope to see you around.”

“Yeah, me too.” With great reluctance, she looked back at her aunt and uncle’s house and steeled herself for the inevitable. “Well, wish me luck.”

“You won’t need it. They love you,” Nicole said, and Waverly felt a sharp tug at her heart. “But just in case… Good luck, Waverly Earp.”

“Goodnight, officer.”

And with Nicole’s warm smile bolstering her, she squared her shoulders and walked up to the house.

Maybe running ran in her family, but maybe she wouldn’t _have_ to run if everything she needed was all in one place.

Maybe she could run, too, just a little, as long as she always came back.

And if worse came to worst, maybe a friendly neighborhood police officer could always give her a ride home.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm cutting Nicole's parents the tiniest bit of slack here and pretending/assuming Rayleigh is a family name. Just let me have this. And thanks for reading till the end. Everyone stay safe out there.


End file.
